


The Best is Behind Us

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Bittersweet, Break Up, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Instability, Moving, Pining, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, nothing too intense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hansol is a victim of circumstance.When Seungkwan leaves, he wonders if it's possible to fall in love and have your heart broken at the same time, and Hansol thinks it might have been for the best that his best friend decided to pick up his life and leave him in the dust.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, i've gained inspiration from the song eugene by sufjan stevens. it's a beautiful song and i highly recommend listening to it as it is the fuel for this angst-driven thing that my brain came up with. just as a foreword, this will not have a sad ending, but it will be sad in parts. that's the joy of writing angsty verkwan i suppose.
> 
> i don't necessarily know how many chapters it'll be, but i'll dive in anyway. i hope you enjoy!

“I got in.”

 

Three words leak from the phone speaker, clear as day and unmasked from any static across the line. It’s a statement with hardly any excitement at all, which was quite unexpected, considering the boy’s previous disposition when conversations strayed into college talk, discussions of future plans and the likes. Hansol couldn’t quite understand what he was hearing, but his first thought was to breathe out as if his lungs could no longer hold their air.

 

“Hansol? Did you hear me?”

 

“I did,” he answers, only momentarily snapping out of the empty daydream. “Seungkwan, I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d be able to do it.”

 

Hansol hears what sounds like a rattled inhale; Seungkwan surely would be feeling many things right now. Applying to the University of Chicago had been such a huge deal for him. Hansol recalled nights where he’d force himself to stay up on the phone with him, making small talk as Seungkwan slaved over application essays. It had been a dream for a while. To be honest, it still felt somewhat like a dream.

 

“I’ll have to move away,” said Seungkwan, hushed and hurried. Hansol wondered why he had grown so quiet. “It’s halfway across...across the country.”

 

“It’s not that far,” Hansol replies. He brought his phone away from his ear for a moment to open up Maps, tapping on the recent search that connected New York to Chicago. It loaded, but Hansol knew in the back of his mind what the distance was already. “It’s 13 hours. That’s not that bad.”

 

“And the time zone. You’ll be an hour ahead.”

 

“Seungkwan, isn’t this what you wanted?”

 

He pictures the boy on the other side of the call swallowing hard. It was all a lot to take in even for Hansol, but for Seungkwan? He was emotional, easily coaxed into crying to get his feelings out, and hard to calm down once he got worked up. Any other time it would have been amusing to see Seungkwan get choked up over things, but Hansol knew it was different now. Moving to a completely different place to start a completely different life with completely different people could overwhelm even the most steadfast person. Hansol  _ knew _ that.

 

“It  _ is  _ what I want!” The pitch of Seungkwan’s voice rises and Hansol is afraid that it’ll break, and unfortunately, he could tell that the other boy had to have started crying at this point.

 

Hansol knew they had both imagined it, when the time came for them to go off to college and move away, although Hansol himself had planned on staying in the city. Seungkwan, however, had taken the risk at University of Chicago and now he was reaping his reward. To Hansol, it had been painfully obvious that his best friend had had an excellent shot when it came to applying; being an Asian-American minority, an extremely intelligent student, and a huge contributor in their high school’s jazz choir and TV production studio meant that Seungkwan was a top-tier applicant. He was driven. That’s what Hansol admired most about him.

 

The slam of the apartment’s front door suddenly comes from outside, making Hansol jump where he sat on the edge of the bed. “Seungkwan,” he says fast, “I’ll text you later. Mom’s home.”

 

“Okay, I —”

 

Hansol hangs up before Seungkwan can finish. He hears his mother yelling for him from the kitchen, and almost robotically, he gets to his feet and heads out of his room. She’s in one of her bad moods, he knows, but he doesn’t talk back when she shoves him towards the sink, nearly growling at him to wash up what little dishes were currently inside. Hansol squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He can tell without a doubt what she’s bound to say next.

 

“Who were you talking to on that phone?” Her voice is accusatory, dripping with vileness of some sort. Hansol bites his lip.

 

“It was Seungkwan,” he says softly, scrubbing a spot on a plate with the back of a sponge. He focuses all his intent on the dish, not wishing to look up and see the disgust that was so familiar plastered on his mother’s features.

 

She huffs. “I don’t like that brat,” she spits, almost stomping out of the kitchen and towards her room. Hansol nearly heaves a sigh of relief when she stops breathing down the back of his neck. “He’s a fucking homo, Hansol Chwe, and you don’t associate with his kind. Not any child of mine, no sir.”

 

And there it was. The spot is getting harder and harder to scrub clean. Hansol’s stomach flips in the worst way, like it does every time Seungkwan is brought up between the two of them. He had been his best friend since the first grade, when Seungkwan had shared his gummy fruit snacks when Hansol had shown up with no lunchbox for the day. He doesn’t believe in fate or soulmates or any of that nonsense, but he did believe in friendship. Whatever he had between Seungkwan was something he wouldn’t give up, despite his mother having such a negative view. Seungkwan did not deserve it. It hurt Hansol immensely.

 

The evening continued and the sunset peered through the open blinds of Hansol’s room. Music played quietly through the bluetooth speaker on his bedside table, some Frank Ocean song he had forgotten the name of. Laying on his bed, he was thinking about what Seungkwan was doing right now. His parents were probably treating him to a night out for dinner, one of the Korean places in the neighborhood that their family was surely familiar with. Hansol still remembers when he found out that their roots were another thing the two of them had in common; bonding over that with Seungkwan’s family was one of the reasons why he felt more welcome in their apartment than he did in his own.

 

March was a strange month. Outside in the mornings and at night, it was crisp and the traces of winter stung skin, but during the days, Hansol would need to discard his sweatshirts to feel the spring breeze that New York tunneled down to reach the streets nestled within the buildings. He’s glad that he isn’t leaving. Even if his mother can only pay for community college classes, Hansol is happy. The bitterness over Seungkwan leaving him isn’t in full force.

 

Hansol doesn’t doubt that it will be when it comes time to watch him pack up his things and head for Chicago.

 

The song that was playing faded out and some song Hansol didn’t recognize immediately starts. He remembers it as something Seungkwan must’ve added to his Spotify playlist while he wasn’t paying attention; the soft guitar intro makes Hansol think of autumn. Grabbing his phone from beside him, he looks at the name. Holocene by Bon Iver. It triggers a memory of a conversation he’d had with Seungkwan about how the song reminded him of Hansol. He’d never listened to the lyrics that carefully.

 

The song plays. Hansol ponders over the fact that he is not, in fact, magnificent.

 

* * *

 

 

Seungkwan is crying. 

 

He isn’t really sad or overly stressed, at least he thinks, but tears form fast for him and they fall even faster. Years of being bullied by classmates for the fact that he was a crybaby never truly affected him because he knew he honestly could not help it. There is nothing wrong with being emotional, and he’s secure in that fact.

 

He’s laying spread eagle on his bed staring up at the ceiling. When he was younger, he’d stuck glow-in-the-dark space stickers all over the place, and even now at the ripe age of 18, Seungkwan takes comfort in gazing up at the fake stars. Space was huge and everything was uncertain but he  _ did _ know that it had been an excellent decorating choice. He thinks about how much he’d get made fun of if he decided to bring some to his dorm in the fall.

 

His dorm. At his college. In Chicago. God, the future was intimidating.

 

It had been a month since telling Hansol and his best friend had seemed off ever since.

 

Usually, things never got this weird between them. The closest it came was in their junior year when some girl —he forgets her name, now—had started a dumb, stupid,  _ idiotic _ rumor that the two of them were dating. Looking back at it now, Seungkwan knows why it might’ve been easy for people to pick apart stuff like that. He and Hansol never did anything without each other. Apparently, it showed, and apparently, it was something to joke about. Seungkwan didn’t see how having a best friend was anything so comical.

 

For a few weeks after that, Hansol had pulled away, stopped joking around in classes they shared, pushed free from Seungkwan in the halls, and only bothered to communicate with him via text messages that often came in the form of one-word answers to all of Seungkwan’s heartfelt questions. Eventually, thank goodness, Hansol realized how immature it was. Seungkwan had been over the moon.

 

All the thinking of Hansol drives Seungkwan to sit up and wipe his eyes dry. He can hear that his parents are in the kitchen preparing dinner—some noodle dish that he’d requested himself—but he was suddenly compelled to walk over to the corner store. It was 6 in the evening, meaning that his favorite cashier was on shift and he could get away with snagging a free candy bar or two.

 

“Where are you going, sweetie?” Seungkwan slips his shoes on in front of the door to their apartment. He casts an almost guilty look over his shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready!”

 

“I’m gonna go check up on Hansol,” he answers, giving her a reassuring smile. His mother’s cheeks were filled upon hearing this, eyes crinkling, showing the slightest bit of age with her grinning. 

 

“Alright, be back soon! Tell him we say hello!”

 

His father sends a halfhearted wave from where he stands at the stove stirring a pot. Seungkwan nods, pulling the door open, stepping out. “I love you,” he says before turning the knob shut, only faintly hearing their replies.

 

The Jordan Corner Store was right down the block from Seungkwan’s apartment building. The corner it sat on was quaint enough, although walking down there in the dark never failed to unsettle him. There was a bright neon sign hanging above the door which boasted numerous tinkling bells that sounded whenever someone came and went. Seungkwan had almost applied for a cashier job there as well, but Hansol insisted they’d end up hating each other if they’d have to work together, and sullenly, he had agreed.

 

It was a Thursday night and the shop was vacant. Although stickers and various ads covered most of the window space, Seungkwan could still see Hansol inside as he approached. As always, he looked bored, eyes nearly glazed over from staring at the register that hardly had customers. Seungkwan pulled the door open and Hansol’s head immediately shot up.

 

“Welcome to the JCS,” Hansol said with a small smile, nearly rolling his eyes as he repeated what he always did whenever the bells sounded. “May I be of any assistance to you?”

 

“Yes, indeed. I’d like the pleasure of your company,” Seungkwan says back in mocking and pompous tone. “You look dead, Hansol. Surely you should smile for your customers.” With that sentiment, he walks around the back of the counter and plops down in the extra stool beside Hansol’s.

 

He gives him a gummy smile, sarcastic and charming all at the same time, and Seungkwan heaves a sigh. “I’m just trying to help you.”

 

“I know. I appreciate it.” He lets a moment of silence pass. Seungkwan twiddles a pen that had been laying on the counter, clicking the top and spinning in between his fingers. Hansol’s eyes follow it lazily as it moves. “Why are you here? Surely it’s dinner time for you.”

 

“It is,” Seungkwan says, tossing the pen back. “But I figured you were bored.”

 

“Wow, how did you know?” The fake surprise is so evident that it makes Seungkwan frown.

 

“Gee, I dunno, maybe we’re telepathically connected!” He raises his hand and traces an invisible line between Hansol’s forehead and his own before Hansol reaches out and grasps it. Seungkwan huffs in disappointment. 

 

“You know,” Hansol says, looking down at Seungkwan’s tensed hand in his own, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you leave. Who am I supposed to give free candy to?”

 

Tingles start dancing at the tips of Seungkwan’s fingers. He manages a shy smile. Just then, a voice calls from the back storage room, directly visible from the front.

 

“Hey lovebirds, keep the mushy stuff out of my store, please?”

 

“Sorry, Jihoon,” Hansol sends the apology back, letting go of Seungkwan’s hand, and suddenly Seungkwan feels much more hollow. “We won’t interrupt your nap again!”

 

“You punks,” the older man grumbles, nearly inaudible, before the door is slid shut and the springs of a bed creak distantly. Seungkwan got a kick out of the lackadaisical shop owner; according to Hansol, he was just a college kid keeping the business running while his dad was out in the countryside with his sick mother. Seungkwan admired him for that but had never been able to be face-to-face with him. Hansol always told him he didn’t want to ever be in such a situation.

 

Seungkwan hopped up off the stool. Laid out under the front of the counter were boxes filled with various candy and the selection was mediocre at best. He scanned the rows quickly, already halfway knowing what to expect. He was pretty certain most of the expiration dates had passed. “Why does the variety always suck whenever I come down here?” Seungkwan complained, eliciting a smirk from Hansol.

 

“Maybe it’s God telling you to stop eating candy.”

 

Seungkwan scoffs, grabbing a Twix in his hand and ripping the packaging off to take a bite. “Shut up, you asshole,” he whined through a mouth full of caramel and chocolate. “Maybe I don’t wanna stop. Maybe I want to have fuller cheeks.”

 

The boy at the counter tapped his fingers dutifully along the edge. “Suit yourself!”

 

It’s things like this that make them so special, Seungkwan thought, suddenly getting spacey as he walked back around the counter to his stool. Hansol never missed an opportunity to tease him and yet Seungkwan never felt burdened like he would if it were anyone else. His best friend was a know-it-all when it came to acknowledging all of Seungkwan’s pitfalls. And yet...he had always stuck around.

 

It was also things like that that Seungkwan would probably miss most. 

 

“I should probably head back home,” he comments, swallowing what’s left of the candy bar.

 

Hansol bobbed his head absentmindedly. “Your parents have dinner ready,” he says. “You shouldn’t keep them waiting. Now, shoo!” He kicked lightly at the legs of the stool, prompting Seungkwan to get to his feet and pout. “Go before I decide to add that Twix bar to your tab.”

 

Seungkwan snorted in laughter, already halfway out the door, bells jingling over his response. “I have a  _ tab? _ ”

 

Hansol pressed up against the door, preventing Seungkwan from coming back in, but he shook his head in mock defeat and started walking the opposite way. He raises a hand in a small wave and Hansol’s face softens before he copies him and turns his back to resume his post behind the counter. It’s dark outside, the stark contrast between the fluorescent shop lights and the pitch blackness of the street start messing with Seungkwan’s vision. He’s hungry, full of many feelings he can’t really explain, and hoping his parents haven’t missed him for too long.

 

It was a night to be grateful for. Aprils in the city always had a fresh feeling about them, newness and the smell of the coming summer mingling with the dirty streets and the many, many people walking through. Seungkwan wonders how many of them are permanent here. Tourists were common in New York and it was obvious as to why, but it was perplexing to think about the number of people that never cared to stay more than a few days.

 

Seungkwan had been staying for 18 years. A tourist, he thinks, scarfing down the delicious noodles his parents have prepared. He’s at the tail end of a vacation of which he has numerous memories, snapshots and photographs of every mundane hour he ever spent in school, every joke he ever cackled at with Hansol, and every opportunity he’d missed along the way.

 

He hopes it isn’t too late to say his goodbyes, even though he won’t be moving away until August. He has the whole summer. Seungkwan can work with that. What came next, though, was a territory fully unexplored and uninhabited by plans he can conjure up.

 

When he shuts his eyes that night to sleep, Seungkwan thinks about Hansol at the counter of the little convenience store down the street and he wonders if it’s possible to keep falling for someone, even if they live 13 hours and 790 miles away.


	2. Chapter 2

Humidity was awful. It was even more awful when Seungkwan had to be outside for long periods of time; his hair didn’t necessarily agree with the excess moisture in the air. Frizzy and rough no matter how hard he tried to pat it down, he sullenly gives in, walking quickly to match Hansol’s pace. They were on the way to Central Park, skateboards in hand, dodging the usual pedestrian traffic that went along with living in such a famous city.

 

“Why did I agree to this?” Seungkwan moaned. He hears Hansol chuckle as he shakes his head. “I’m not even that _good_ at this yet,” he goes on, waving the board in the air at his side. It had been a gift for his birthday back in January, and Hansol had promised to teach him how to use the darn thing. That was all well and good, but Seungkwan nearly broke his ankles every time he stood on it.

 

They get stopped at a crosswalk, the blinking red light halting their progress. “Seungkwan,” Hansol says, “you’ve barely even tried. This is, what, your third time on it? You need practice!”

 

“The practice part sucks.” The crosswalk light turns green and Hansol reaches to grab Seungkwan’s forearm with his free hand to drag him along. Other people scurry across with them. “I’d rather just be as good as you now, thank you very much.”

 

Hansol doesn’t say anything more. Seungkwan can tell without seeing his face that he wears that stupid smirk of his like a medal, shining and gloating and all of the other adjectives that pushed Seungkwan’s buttons like it was his job to do so. Hansol wasn’t a man of many words, mostly because his face said all there was to say. Knowing him for a while had given him index to things like that; their friendship was spoken mostly on Seungkwan’s part.

 

Central Park was, surprisingly, not as crowded as they had initially planned for it to be. The summer heat—unusual for New York City—must be the driving force behind it. People never enjoyed the humidity. The paths were mostly clear and Hansol must’ve seen this as a huge advantage, as his eyes were shining when he threw down his board and got on the moment they crossed into the park itself. Seungkwan prefered to stay on his own two feet. Solid, unmoving ground was a blessing.

 

“Seungkwan,” Hansol calls, already a few meters down the paved walkway. “Get on. You can do it. I’ve _seen_ you do it before!”

 

“No,” comes his answer. The board in his hands is held with sweaty palms connected to twitching, nervous fingers and a heart already beating faster than it should be. He couldn’t recall the correct way to mount the thing, so he just set it on the ground and stared as if it would magically teach him correct skateboarding etiquette. Further public embarrassment was unwelcome.

 

“C’mon! I’m gonna leave you behind.”

 

“At least _help_ me!” Seungkwan knew that Hansol was a passive person whereas he himself was a go-getter. However, trying new things scared him and Hansol should be aware of that. Seungkwan drops the board on the ground in front of him as Hansol had done and the other boy quickly turned around on his own board to skid up next to him. “Let me hold your shoulders,” Seungkwan says, and Hansol gets off his skateboard rolling his eyes jokingly.

 

He lets Seungkwan put his hands almost around his neck to steady himself. Hansol doesn’t complain; he never did when it came to Seungkwan and any request he had, whether it be for sake of comfort or otherwise. Seungkwan fought back a smile, biting down on his lip as he teetered forward on the board.

 

“You okay?” Hansol asked.

 

“Just dandy. Keep walking, I feel better having you here.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

Hansol leads him down the sidewalk. After a few minutes, Seungkwan loosens his grasp around Hansol’s shoulders, arms still hovering but not holding on as tightly. He was worried he had been choking him. “I think I’m getting pretty good,” Seungkwan comments. Hansol snickers. Just then, he steps away, letting Seungkwan roll freely along. Seungkwan feels his legs go wobbly.

 

“There you go,” Hansol reassures him. “You’re doing well.” Seungkwan hesitates, weight leaning backward, until Hansol reaches forward and steadies him, hands gripping right above his waist. It’s as if this is even more embarrassing, although Seungkwan has nothing to be embarrassed about per say; the people that walk past them, although few and far between, could be judging them. Seungkwan was so distracted that he didn’t even notice he was now out of Hansol’s grasp again.

 

“Seungkwan, push forward with your right foot.”

 

He does. This adds to his speed slightly and panic sets in. He was going to fall. He could feel it. As if on cue, Seungkwan feels the board slip from under his feet like a banana peel and he hits the pavement hard, letting out a few choice words that cause a mother with a stroller walking by to give him quite a nasty stare.

 

Hansol is right there beside him. “Okay,” he says, “you’ve made improvement. That’s the plus side.” He then starts laughing and all sign of genuine concern is erased. Seungkwan stands and rubs the spot on his butt that he’s sure will have a bruise blossoming later. “The downside is that you looked really funny when you fell.”

 

Seungkwan huffs. “You could ask me if I’m alright, you douchebag.” His butt is nearly numb with pain. He grimaces, trying to make it look worse than it seems. Sympathy from Hansol was a tough thing to get, but he was going to try and milk it the most he could. “Hansol, why did you let me go? You were helping so much.”

 

“I have to let go eventually.”

 

The two of them settle into habit after the debacle in the park; the late afternoon dwindling down of pedestrians prompts a visit to McDonald’s, since they both agree that two large fries and soda sounds amazing and much-needed after an hour or so spent skateboarding (or at least attempting to). They eat inside at a table by the window. Seungkwan grabs two french fries and coats them generously with the ketchup in the tiny paper cup in front of him.

 

Hansol stares. “I always found it weird how you have to eat two at a time.” Seungkwan throws the fries into his open mouth and chews mockingly, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Well I always found it weird how you don’t put ice in your soda cup.” He reaches across and shakes the nearly-empty cup of Hansol’s, his Sprite swishing around with no ice inside. “Seriously, do you honestly like warm soda?”

 

“No!” Hansol exclaims. He pushes Seungkwan’s hands away from his cup, defending it, sipping from the straw sheepishly. “I don’t like my soda watered down. The ice melts after a while.”

 

At this, Seungkwan hums. Hansol always had arguments for everything. Watered down soda, having to let go of Seungkwan’s waist when he had been struggling to skate, Seungkwan reflects on his best friend’s logic. He was, after all, much more logical than he himself was. He probably always would be, even after Seungkwan moved away and went to a grown-up school with grown-up people for a grown-up education. He chews another couple of fries absentmindedly.

 

His thought process decides what comes out of his mouth next. “Do you think you’ll miss me?” Seungkwan asks, watching Hansol as he bites the tip of the straw in his cup. “When I go off to school...will you know what to do without me?”

 

“No,” he answers, and Seungkwan almost chokes on the french fries he had currently been swallowing. “You’re pretty much the only source of entertainment around here.”

 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

“It means I’m gonna miss you and I’m not gonna know what to do. Simple as that.”

 

If Hansol said it was simple, was it really simple? Seungkwan recalls the moment he pressed the call button after getting the notice of his college acceptance, when the dial tone in his ear was almost as deafening as the silence that followed, when Hansol had surely been milling over the news. The same silence was unbearable now. Hansol stared at him and Seungkwan stared back. Some unspoken thing was connecting them, although Seungkwan wasn’t sure what it was. Years of friendship, perhaps, but also something new. Something that had just started blooming.

 

Seungkwan sighed, breaking the eye contact first. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. I can stay somewhere closer.”

 

“Seungkwan, that’s ridiculous. You’ve wanted this forever.”

 

His thoughts nearly get the better of him. _I’ve wanted other things more._ “I don’t know,” he moans, resting his head on his crossed arms. The table is sticky and gross but Seungkwan doesn’t care at this point. His mind is mush and Hansol is still slurping on whatever is left of his soda, the noise drowning out all other sounds around them. “What if I don’t make any friends? You’re like, the only one I’m ever going to have.”

 

One gigantic eye roll and a sigh later, Hansol replies, “Okay, first of all, you’re great at making friends.” He talks with his hands, something that Seungkwan notices when he wants to emphasize a point. “You’re sociable, funny, cute, smart, you name it. People are gonna flock to you.”

 

“Did you just call me _cute?”_

 

“Second,” he goes on, ignoring Seungkwan’s interjection or maybe just not hearing it, “you won’t even notice I’m not there with you. We can Skype or talk on the phone or write letters, I don’t know! It’s not like we’ll stop being friends. I don’t want to lose you.”

 

 _I don’t want to lose you._ It rings around in Seungkwan’s head like his thoughts are playing pinball with Hansol’s words. He tries to hide the smug smile that grows on his face. Hansol notices, as he always does, and his ears go red. “You know what I mean,” he follows with quietly, saving himself from saying what he _actually_ means. Seungkwan knows. He’s been dealing with the feeling for years now.

 

“Let’s go,” Seungkwan says in place of all the things coming to mind. He doesn’t want to think about college right now, as much as he should, because Hansol won’t be there and Seungkwan won’t be here and things are going to be difficult and Seungkwan has issues when it comes to acknowledging his own problems more than those of others. It’s hard.

 

They leave the McDonald’s and Seungkwan takes his soda along with him, nearly spitting out his sip when he realizes he left it sitting for too long and the ice had all melted, leaving a flat drink behind, flavor muddled just like his brain.

 

 

* * *

 

Hansol looked in the mirror, reflection speckled with dust and whatever other grime was building up, and stared long and hard, trying to figure out how exactly he had gotten here. His cap sat crookedly on his head and his hair poked out in odd places, but despite all that, he smiled to himself, giddiness nearly overflowing.

 

T minus an hour and a half until he walked across the auditorium stage at school, grabbed the diploma from the principal's hand, and never had to look back on the past four years of high school. His work was done. Just that thought alone widened his grin. Another attempt to fix his cap failed; Hansol figured he’d get Seungkwan to do it once he got to school.

 

The high school isn’t far from his apartment building. May meant it was getting hotter and disgustingly sticky out and it also meant that Hansol was extra glad he’d applied double layers of deodorant; his dress shirt was starting to moisten under the armpits, but only slightly. Hansol, one. Fabric, zero. His gown and stole are on a hanger in his hand. Unlike Seungkwan, who was sure to have numerous honor cords hanging with his gown, Hansol’s load was relatively light. In a way, he was glad not to be that outstanding.

 

He checks his phone once more before he has to shut it off and tries not to bump into anyone else on the street. Hansol makes good time and soon enough, he reaches the school building and enters the graduate area, already searching above the heads of other students to find the one he wanted to see.

 

“There you are! You were almost late. And why are you wearing your cap? Jeesh, do I have to do everything for you?”

 

Seungkwan is suddenly there in front of him. His hands are on Hansol’s shoulders and their eyes meet, but in an instant, he feels Seungkwan reach up and pull his cap off, ruffling the hair underneath. “Hey!” Hansol exclaims, but Seungkwan just giggles like an idiot.

 

“I tried to straighten it,” he admits, rubbing his neck. “It didn’t, uh, work.”

 

Hansol watches as Seungkwan flips the cap around in his hands, tassel flying. He winks. “That’s a beautiful metaphor,” Seungkwan states, coughing awkwardly. Hansol’s ears go red.

 

“You’re a mess.”

 

“Yes, but I’m _your_ mess.” Hansol’s ears are now tomatoes, ripe and ready to be picked.

 

“Just put my cap on for me already.”

 

They spend the rest of the allotted time getting their caps and gowns on; Seungkwan spends more than ten minutes fixing his hair in a small, handheld mirror while Hansol watches. Eventually, the noise from the rest of their graduating class gets to them and they find a corner to stand in, conversing about nothing. This was the epitome of their high school years—him and Seungkwan, Seungkwan and him. They’d had next to no one but each other and that was how they were ending: the exact same way they’d started.

 

Time passes quite quickly. Teachers start lining them up. Seungkwan grabs ahold of Hansol’s tie before they part for their respective places and he looks as though he’s about to cry or say something profound, something Hansol can’t quite distinguish. “Hey,” he says, “don’t trip.” His hands find the tie’s knot and tug gently and firmly at the same time, tightening it enough to look presentable. Hansol hadn’t even realized it had been so loose.

 

“You too,” Hansol shoots back, and Seungkwan’s lips tug up into a smile. He darts off and gets in line with the ‘B’ names; Hansol finds his way to the ‘C’ portion.

 

Hansol thinks time slows down when he watches Seungkwan get his diploma first. He hears his parents call his name proudly and he tries to ignore the twinge of jealousy that pokes him in the head and begs him to feel bad for himself; when his own name is called, he spares a glance out at the audience as he ascends the steps, hoping that his mother actually decided to show up. Thankfully (or, not), she’s near the back. He can’t even tell if she’s smiling.

 

“Hansol, darling, please take our picture!” Seungkwan’s family finds him afterward, before his own mother, and Seungkwan’s mom hands him her phone. He opens to the camera as Seungkwan’s parents embrace their son, smiles beaming.

 

Hansol backs up and aims. “Get my good side!” Seungkwan calls, tilting his head to no avail as his mother cups his cheeks. He takes a few in a burst shot, capturing the moment where Seungkwan’s parents look proudest, and he lets himself smile when he scrolls through the pictures and hands Seungkwan’s mom her phone back.

 

The walk back home is a quiet one. Seungkwan’s family had gone out to eat and Hansol had to refuse to tag along, feeling more like a burden than any sort of accompaniment. He promised to text Seungkwan later, although he doubted he’d have the motivation. Hansol’s stride is slower than his mother’s, who paces down the sidewalk as though she has an appointment to get to, but Hansol has no willpower to catch up. He tries not to wish in the back of his mind that he had parents that treated him to celebratory meals, or took pictures with him, or actually showed pride on their faces.

 

His mother hadn’t even said anything besides ‘Good job, now let’s go home before it gets dark.'

 

He takes off his gown and throws his cap up onto a shelf in his closet. The gown goes back on its hanger and Hansol holds it up to look at it for a second. All those times in school, the entirety of the past four years, all of it had been forgotten the second he zipped the thing up and shook the sleeves out. All of it wasted away like dust in his memories when he grabbed the diploma.

 

And now came college. Now came decision-making and change, school without his best friend in the desk beside him cracking jokes about things their teachers said. Seungkwan wouldn’t be there across from him in the cafeteria, open to sharing food and sipping the same drink from different straws. Now that Hansol thought about it, he seemed married to him in a way, unable to even ponder the possibility of doing anything without him.

 

He shook his head. Seungkwan needed him to be happy. He knew how terrifying it must be to leave him, just as much as it was for him to be left behind.

 

Hansol goes to bed early that night, not bothering to answer Seungkwan’s texts when his phone lights up on his bedside table. They’d still be there in the morning.


End file.
